


At Your Service

by C1ashi1dr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya hates Daenerys at first, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-06-26 21:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15671928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C1ashi1dr/pseuds/C1ashi1dr
Summary: Unbeknownst to Daenerys Targaryen, the slave trade to the fighting pits of Meereen has been continuing, though more subtly than before. Among this new set of slaves is a scrappy young woman of Westerosi origin, who grabs the attention of the Dragon Queen after defying her wishes. How was she to know that this woman was the lost daughter of House Stark?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite/full length version of a three-shot I wrote in my other work, The Dragon and the Wolf. I won't update this as often as The Dragon and the Wolf, probably once a week. Enjoy!

The air was suffocating, choking the air from Arya’s lungs as she moved across the sand of the fighting pits, dodging the swinging blade of her opponent. She ducked under the blade and drove her elbow into the man’s stomach, making him stumbled back. Arya smirked and launched into an offensive assault, swinging her sword back and forth, the man barely able to dodge the quick blows. The blade slashed his chest, sending blood spraying onto Arya. She kept moving, driving him back, farther and farther, until he tripped and fell onto his back. Sweat plastered her hair to her face as Arya stared down at the man, sun beating onto her back, bare except for the wrapping keeping her chest covered. The man looked at her, fearful for a sligh second before he bellowed out a laugh and Arya helped him back to his feet.

“Good hit, Arry,” the man said, slapping her on the back as she wiped her blood hands onto her pants. “You nicked me real good!” Blood was still flowing from the wound, but it was slowing dramatically. Arya knew that she hadn’t done any real damage to Bear. That was his name, ridiculous as it was. He was one of the biggest fighters their pit had to offer, though not the best by far. Arya had to consider herself towards the top of that list. She had defeated every man, every beast that they put before her, sword in hand or merely a dagger. She trained from sunrise til sundown, though that was hardly anything to brag about. Every fighter did that, every slave fighter at the very least. If they didn’t they were beaten savagely and put into a fight that was rigged against them. Harsh, yes, but it proved a point to survivors. Train or die.

Many of those in the pits were slaves who had been freed by the Dragon Queen. It was their choice to be there. Such was not the case of Arya. She was a slave by any means, the only difference being the lack of a collar, though that was for fear of discovery. The slave trade to the pits had continued, but no one dared to speak of it. The Sons of Harpy had ears everywhere and anyone who spoke of slaves was never heard from again. Arya turned to Bear as he strolled away from her, clearly going to get a bandage put on the massive scratch across his chest. Arya took the opportunity to stand in the empty pit that had been turned into a training area. The seats were empty, but Arya could hear the murmur of a crowd everytime she fought, be it in training or in true combat. It was a part of her mind now, the show that she had to put on. She could be any opponent that was put before her, but she had to draw it out, risk more, for quick battles were not favored over long, drawn out affairs. 

“Arry!” a voice shouted from the one of the many openings. “Get over here, boy!” Arya scoffed at the moniker. Even with chest wrapping, these fools didn’t remember that she was a woman, had always been. She looked too much of a boy to be anything else. Arya moved quickly through the sluggish heat and arrived before one of the many men who presided over the function of pits. He had come to her often enough that she knew what was coming. “You’re fighting today, Arry. You presentable?” Obviously a trick question. She was covered in blood and sand, but no one ever cared. The crowd seemed to enjoy it when she came in bloodsoaked from a previous fight. She didn’t care either way. 

As he did everytime, the guard grabbed her bicep and dragged her into the pit, tossing her back into the sunlight. She was already soaked in sweat and being back in the heat did nothing to aid her. The crowd roared around her, already familiar with her. She was glad that someone was taking enjoyment from this. She looked to her opponent and saw a mountain of a man, even bigger than Bear. She drew her sword and squared up against him, looking to see the Dragon Bitch had actually come this time. Strange. It was known that the Queen hated these blood baths almost as the people loved them. In her time, Arya had only been able to fight for the Queen herself once, back when she had still been less skilled and had almost lost. Both she and her opponent looked at the Queen and she clapped once. 

The fight began.

Arya dodged a blow from the giant hammer the man was wielding, only barely scraping by. Dust and sand billowed up into the air when the weapon hit the ground, blinding Arya for a moment. Perhaps her opponent was smarter than she had first suspected he was. The crowd was quiet for once, waiting to see what would happen as ‘Arry’ was swallowed by the dust cloud. Arya’s watering eyes darted back and forth until the sound of moving air indicated that the hammer was coming down once more. Arya rolled clear of both the blow and the dust cloud. Her opponent looked confused for a slight second, and that was all she need. She lunged and drove her sword into his leg, cutting a vicious wound there before pulling back out of range of his hammer. The man howled in agony and rounded on her. He rained down heavy, but slow blows, and she dodged all of them. First blood had been drawn, and the crowd was yelling for more.

The wound slowed him considerable, and Arya was able to deliver more and more upon him, a cut here, a swipe there. As more blood was drawn with every minute, the battle progressed, slower and slower. The man got lucky, or she got careless, and his hammer caught the side of her shoulder, sending her flying through the air. The crowd went wild. It was the first blow he had landed, but it was debilitating. Arya was thankful it was her right arm, one she didn’t need, but she could barely get to her feet. The world was spinning still and the man approached, covered in blood but grinning like a maniac. He lifted his hammer and Arya struggled to rise to her knees, coughing harshly.

Her left hand clenched about her sword and she darted out from under the falling hammer, rolling clear barely in time, as was the case with most of her dodges. The crowd held their collective breath as she drove the hilt of her sword into the back of the man’s knees, bringing him crashing down to the ground. She kicked his back and sent him face first into the sand. Her sword came to rest at the back of his throat. She was the victor. It was now up to the Queen to decide his fate.

Arya turned to the Queen, glaring at her with as much contempt as she could must, sweat and blood trickling down her face, only one of them her own. The Queen met her eyes with a steady gaze and the people held their breath once more, eager to hear the decision of their Queen. The Queen motioned to her people, asking their opinion, but they remained silent. Mercy. 

Arya, who had seen enough pit fights in her time here, knew that anyone who went against a motion of mercy was punished, even with death. The thought did not stop her from taking the sword she had let rest at her side, lifting it up, and shoving it through the back of the man’s throat. Blood pooled under his head and the crowd was still silent, though there was fear in the air, she could smell it beyond the tang of the blood. What would happen to this boy, this defiant fighter? Many already knew.

The guards came and dragged her back into the darkness, leaving her sword in the sand, still coated in blood. She would retrieve it later, once her punishment had been dispensed, if she survived it. Still, as she was pulled into the blackness, she could see the shock, horror, and anger etched across the Queen’s face, and it made every moment worth it.

Her punishment was the whip, which she supposed was a better fate than death, though perhaps death would be easier if it meant the Queen of the land was not angered with her. They did not make her strip, seeing as her back was exposed, as she fought without much protection. Her hands were tied to a post and the whip fell across her back again and again, adding to a collection of scars. The scent of blood fill the air and the taste filled her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep from screaming at the pain. She reached 50 before she fainted and was hauled back to her room, where she awoke later, to rivulets of blood still running across her back. 

“You’ve a visitor, bitch.” Ah, yes, they all knew she was a woman now. Well, there couldn’t be much done for that. It was bound to be revealed sooner or later, what with her being a woman grown, though with limited...assets. She was surprised they hadn’t noticed before. Arya pulled herself from her lying position, weak from the blood she had lost. Her eyes focused enough for her to see the violet eyes of the last Targaryen looming above her, staring at her.

“Your Grace,” Arya said weakly, trying to appear stronger than she truly was. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor at this hour. I would have cleaned up.” There was a flash of movement and Arya didn’t have time to move before the Queen’s hand met her cheek. The sound of the slap echoed through the empty room, neither woman daring to breathe.

“You defied my wishes,” the Queen hissed. “And I see that you were aptly punished for it. What was going through your mind?”

“Perhaps they would have given me a merciful death rather than whipping me,” Arya answered honestly. “Is there a reason that you’ve come before me, or are you only here to gloat over a fallen woman?” She saw the raging fire soften for a brief moment before it flared once more. This Queen…

“I wanted to know what would motivate said woman to commit an act that could have killed her! For one so set on survival, you seem to have a want for death,” Queen Daenerys said, and her violet eyes flashed passionately. Arya cared nothing for passion and sighed heavily, adjusting herself and groaning in pain. It would be weeks before she could return to regular training.  
“Who said I wanted to survive? Do you think that because I fight in the pits because I have the choice?” Arya said. “I only fight because I believe in an honorable death at the hands of your enemy. If I were to be beaten, I would urge the victor to kill me. This life is hell for me, Your Grace, and it is not one that I chose for myself,” the words were spat with a fierce venom that seemed to catch the Targaryen by surprise. “I want to die, so if you take your leave, perhaps I may be able to lay here and bleed to death, as it would be better than nothing.”

The Queen had no reply to that, and Arya held her gaze steadily, breathing heavily, both from her outburst and from the pain that seemed to fill every nerve in her body. Finally, the Queen spoke. “Missandei,” she called to a woman who was waiting outside the door. This Missandei stepped into the room, and Arya noted that she looked to be a slave, or a former one at least. “This girl will be accompanying me to the palace. Ride ahead and inform the maids to draw a bath for her.”

“What?” Arya demanded, shooting upright and then groaning again, pain blinding her for a second. Missandei and Daenerys blurred in and out of her vision before she fell backwards, unconscious. The last thing she saw was the concern in violet eyes from the last of the Targaryens.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya wakes up in the Great Pyramid and learns that the Dragon Queen wishes to speak with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I've rewritten this part, and it combines both part 2 and 3 into one chapter. Enjoy!

Arya woke up on a bed, stretched out on her stomach, her back throbbing with every beat of her heart. The fighter groaned and sat up, the immediate pain of the whipping making her freeze and drop back down onto the cot with a small gasp at the extent of the burning feeling across her back. There was a breath of movement beside her, and she turned her head to try and catch a glimpse of who was in the room with her. The question was answered quickly, however, when the person above her spoke.

“I see that you’re awake now.” It was the voice of Missandei, that Naathi who had been with Daenerys when they had come to the Fighting Pits. Gentle hands helped Arya to sit up from where she was, careful to avoid the wounds that criss-crossed her back. There was a tender look to Missandei’s eyes as Arya looked about the room, looking for a way to escape or a weapon with which to immobilize the woman. “There is no need to be fearful. I do not intend to hurt you, though the Queen wishes that you wash up for an audience with her.”

 

Arya understood well enough, but she had no desire to speak with Dragon Queen at all. Still, it did not seem that Missandei was making any jest, so she struggled to stand, with the other woman’s help, and made her way over to the small tub of steaming water in the center of the room they were in. Arya pushed off of Missandei and stripped down, not even caring that she was in the presence of a stranger. They likely stripped her at some point to catch a look the extent of her wounds or scars, so it probably wouldn’t be anything the woman hadn’t seen. 

Arya lowered herself into the bath, scrubbing at the dirt and sand and dried blood on her skin, the welts along her back flaring violently, making her groan quietly with the pain. Missandei assisted her, though it wasn’t needed, and Arya could feel the care that she was taking with the wounds along her back. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or to swat the attention away. Arya decided to leave it be and continued to scrub the grime from her, until her skin was pink and raw, and deemed clean enough for the Queen. She hadn’t felt this clean since she had been back in King’s Landing, however long ago that had been.

Missandei tossed her a large piece of cloth, and Arya dried herself quickly, wincing as she bent over, but the wounds did not open once more. As she drew the cloth through her shaggy hair, Missandei swore to her that she would see a healer once the audience was over with. Arya couldn't care less. She could take care of her own wounds, she had learned that much in her time in the Fighting Pits. Missandei handed her a tunic, which she pulled over her head after wrapping her chest back in its regular bindings. She took the tunic, as she didn’t know when she would be able to have another, but she kept her old pair of pants, which had been cut short to allow movement, had she a need of a quick escape. Arya refused to part with those, and Missandei acquiesced, probably more out of fear than anything else. Still, the handmaiden allowed Arya to lean on her when necessary as they made their way to the throne room of the Great Pyramid.

Arya couldn’t say that she was excited to meet with the Queen, but she wasn’t nervous either. The most the Queen could do would be to issue her death, and Arya was surprisingly at peace enough to accept that. Missandei pushed the door open and Arya stood by herself, walking into the room with what she hoped was only a slight wince. The Dragon Queen was seated on the throne, watching her entrance. Arya kept her head high, and it was only when the Unsullied started to move for her did she stop, feeling that she had gotten close enough. 

“Ah, the mystery fighter from the Pits,” Daenerys said, waving for her Unsullied to stand down. “It is good to see you up and about so soon.” Arya shrugged, the movement causing pain but she wasn’t about to let that show. “I am sure you are curious as to why I have singled you out.”

“Not really,” Arya said. “You’re trying to see why I would go against the order of my Queen and kill a defenseless man. I’m correct, aren’t I?” The Unsullied about the Queen looked to their leader for instruction, but she stared at Arya calmly, appraising her silently. “Or perhaps you are trying to see if you want me for your army.”

“I want no such thing,” Daenerys replied. “You intrigue me, yes, but I do not wish you in my army against your will. I am curious, however, as to why you would put yourself in such peril as disobeying not only myself, but the people of Meereen. I would think that you would have a better self preservation instinct, but you said yourself that you wished that they would have killed you. What made you come to this decision?”

“My life situations,” Arya replied. “But that is none of your concern. May I return back to where I belong, Your Grace? I doubt they would let me be away for long before they would want me to fight once more.”

“You do not have my leave,” Daenerys said, and Arya clenched a fist. She didn’t get it, did she? There was a high chance there would be another whipping if Arya did not return as quickly as she could. “And you do not get to dictate what is of my concern and what is not. It is my duty to care for my subjects, and if there is something plagues you, I wish to know about it that I may solve the problem.” Arya growled quietly, but didn’t move, waiting for the woman to continue. She never did, and the silence stretched on and on, until Missandei spoke up.

“Perhaps I should lead Miss…” Missandei faltered, realizing that Arya had not once given her name to anyone in the Great Pyramid. The room looked to her expectantly, but she said nothing. “Perhaps I should take our guest back to her chambers. Her wounds require a healer.” 

“Missandei, I thank you for your concern, but I wish to continue speaking with her,” Daenerys said, making it clear that Arya was not to leave, not yet. “What is your name?”

“Arry,” Arya replied, the lie coming to her lips quickly. Daenerys narrowed her eyes, and snapped her fingers. The Unsullied that stood closest to her approached, grabbed her bicep, and dragged her forward, as though an unspoken command had been made. Arya stumbled and hissed in pain at the sudden jerk of her injured shoulder as she was pulled before the Queen. 

“You will kneel,” the Unsullied ordered and Arya shakily knelt before the Queen, head bent to conceal the pain that was flashing across her face. There were footsteps as the Unsullied crossed the room back to where Daenerys was. The room was silent, but Arya could only hear the beat of her heart in her ears and the heavy breaths heaving from her lungs as she coped with the pain. Finally, Daenerys spoke, her voice quiet, but commanding the attention of the whole room. 

“You would do well not to lie to me, ‘Arry’,” Daenerys said, obviously not believing her. “I bid you to speak the truth, or my Unsullied will not be afraid to distribute justice.” The threat was clear, and Arya had a choice. Speak the truth and live, or lie once more and be killed. 

Arya struggled back to her feet, swaying slightly, but waving Missandei away when she went to help. All of the Unsullied shifted in response to her movements, but Daenerys held her hand up, halting their advancement upon the fighter. Arya lifted her head, breathing out harshly to dispel the pain before she spoke again.

“You wish to know who I am,” Arya said, staring deep into the violet eyes that were common to the Targaryen bloodline. “I will tell you, only because you must end what is happening in the pits. My name is Arya Stark. I am the daughter of Ned Stark, who was Hand to Robert the Usurper, the man who saved the life of Your Grace and your son. I was brought here from Westeros, taken by Slavers-”

“Nonsense,” said the Imp at Daenerys’s side, making Arya bristle. “Her Highness has completely decimated the slave trade to Meereen. There have not been slaves in this city since Daenerys broke the chains of those who had been enslaved.” Arya took a threatening step forward, but the Unsullied pointed their spears at her. The Imp rose and waddled over to her, appraising her as the Slavers had: as though she were cattle. He narrowed his eyes and she glared at him until he waddled back to his seat, sitting and picking up his wine, taking a long drink. “Though she seems to be telling the truth. I would recognize those Stark eyes anywhere.”

“The House that betrayed my family, that broke the centuries old vow between us?” Daenerys asked, and Arya rolled her eyes. “Why should we believe you about the Slave Traders? It is as my Hand has said, I broke the chains of slaves in Meereen.” Arya scoffed and Daenerys’s eyes flashed with a brief anger that made Arya glad there was some reaction from her. “You doubt this?”

“I have lived this life,” Arya shot back, unable to hold her tongue. “I am not allowed to leave the Pits and I cannot return to Westeros without the owners of the Pits coming to me and killing me. They do not make us wear collars, Your Grace, but they are there, holding us back.” Daenerys stared at her once more, violet eyes softening as Arya continued. “Please, let me return. I must get back to work. I’d rather not suffer through another whipping.”

“I will not allow it,” Daenerys said immediately, motioning to Missandei. “Missandei, lead Lady Stark back to her room, and send for a Maester for her wounds.” She pointed to a pair of Unsullied. “You will guard Lady Stark’s door, to make sure that she does not leave without our knowledge.” Finally, the Queen turned her gaze back to Arya, who was glaring at her. “I wish to discuss more of this over dinner this evening. I trust that you would join us.”

“Fuck you,” Arya replied quickly, and the Unsullied came to her side, grabbing her arms. Arya weaseled free with astounding speed for one wounded such as her and drew the dagger that was always hidden in her trousers, body flaring with pain as she drove the knife into the side of one of the Unsullied. She barely dodged the spear of the other and pulled the knife from the wound, slicing a shallow cut along the other guard’s leg. Both fell to her sides, leaving her hands bloodied once more as she watched Daenerys, daring the Queen to make another move. Missandei had paused in her approach, a look of horror across her face, but Daenerys motioned her again and the Naathi woman stood a few paces away, well out of reach of Arya’s dagger, or so she believed. 

“Lady Stark, I would be very pleased if you could refrain from wounding my handmaiden,” Daenerys said and there was a stern gleam in her eye that compelled Arya to obey her wishes. Arya managed a stiff bow and allowed Missandei to lead her away, not even gracing the Queen with a backwards glance. They exited the throne room without another word passed between her and Missandei, and Arya could practically smell the fear radiating from her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner finally arrives, and Arya has a set plan to get herself thrown out of the Great Pyramid to return to the Fighting Pits. She did not, however, account for the fact that the Imp would be quite so talkative, nor that the wine would flow so freely.

Arya was confined to her room for the rest of the day, a new pair of Unsullied placed at her door, their faces stoic. Missandei had fled from her presence as quickly as her feet could take her, leaving Arya alone, bored out of her mind. A Maester stumbled in when the sun was beginning to set and attended to her wounds, clearly having heard of her exploits in the throne room, and had treated her accordingly. There was an uneasy silence between them as he pressed salves and stitched up the wounds before wrapping them in a bandage while Arya lay face down on the bed once more. As soon as his task was done, the Maester left as though he was being chased by a White Walker.

Arya sat up from the bed, and rested there for a long while, legs crossed upon the bed as she fiddled with the dagger that they hadn’t thought to take from her. Her hands were still covered in blood, now dried, and she began to pick it from her fingers, flake after flake falling to the floor as the time passed, seemingly slower and slower. With each minute that passed, Arya felt as though an hour had taken its place, until she felt as though she could go completely mad. The Unsullied outside the door didn’t let her leave when she wanted, and the room was too high up to survive jumping from the window to escape. In essence, she was a prisoner in yet another palace, with yet another Bitch of Queen thinking she could manipulate a Stark. The longer she sat upon these thoughts, the more agitated Arya became, and by the time the summons for her dinner with the Queen came, she was had a plan at the ready.

Missandei came for her, of all people, and Arya supposed that the Queen’s order still rang true and she followed Missandei obediently, strolling along as she flipped the dagger in her hand, both a warning to the woman walking beside her and a effort to keep her mind occupied as they walked. They passed the occasional Unsullied or Meereenese man or woman, but the halls were empty for the most part. Arya felt a sense of nervousness flutter in her stomach, but she pushed it down. What did it matter, this meeting with the Queen? It didn’t, not to her at the very least. She was sure she could convince the Queen to allow her to return before the dinner was over.

Missandei opened the door to the dining area of the pyramid and presented her as Lady Arya Stark, making Arya wrinkle her nose, quite the opposite of a Lady. She entered the room with her shoulders thrown back (quite painful, but definitely worth the confidence it gave her) and her steps quick and sure. At the head of the table was the Dragon Queen herself, not a hair out of place, and the Imp sat at her right hand, staring at Arya knowingly. She fixed her gaze on an Unsullied in the back, determined to not even so much as look at the Imp.

She moved without being bid and took a seat at the end of the table, which was quite short, meaning that she and the Queen would not have to shout to speak to her. The woman’s eyes were burning bright with an emotion that Arya could not quite place, but she decided not to think much of it as they engaged in a brief staring match, neither woman wanting to give in.

“Lady Stark, you never did explain how you ended up in the Fighting Pits. In fact, all I can recall you saying was that you were not here by choice before you stabbed two of Her Grace’s guards. It seems to me that you have much to explain,” the Imp said, breaking the tension between the two as Arya turned her glare to him instead, but he merely shook his head, as though amused and disappointed by a child; as though she wasn’t someone who could kill him with her bare hands. “Now, now, is that any sort of way to look at your good-brother?” 

Arya had a glass of wine halfway to her lips when he said these words, and she clenched her hand so tightly she could have broken it. Her entire body went rigid, a predator ready to attack a threat that she sensed as she set the glass down, braced her hands against the table, and stood, leaning over the table and speaking in the coldest, lowest voice possible. “What the fuck did you just say?” The silence after these words rang through the sem-empty hall, and they stayed there for what felt an eternity before the Imp put his napkin on the table and looked at her, looking equal parts calm and apathetic to what she was doing.

“I said good-brother, Lady Stark,” he replied and Arya clenched her hand until her knuckles were white, murder written all over her face. “Now please, sit down. You wouldn’t want to upset the balance of things, would you?” He was acting as though he had said nothing, a flippant set of words that didn’t have severe implications. He took a long sip of his wine, and Arya felt herself move before she could even think, hitting the glass from his hand, shattering it across the floor. Again, no one moved, Tyrion’s hand still next to his face as Arya leaned back to where she had been previously, daring either one of them to move without giving her answers.

“Missandei, would you please fetch someone to clean that up?” For once, it was Daenerys that spoke first, and Missandei nodded, hurriedly going to fetch said person. The Dragon Bitch turned back to Arya, that unmistakable cold, calculated look of a Queen in her eyes as she looked over the woman before speaking, her words holding the edge of a command, not a suggestion. “And you, Lady Stark, if you would please sit down. I am sure you can have a civil discussion with my Hand. If not, I must bid you to leave, as I do not allow violence at my table.” 

Reluctantly, Arya sat back down, but still glared daggers at the Imp as he smirked from behind a new wine glass that he had been given. That, at least, wasn’t surprising. Even when she known him, many, many years ago, he always had a glass of wine in his hand. He seemed a perpetual drunk, for which Arya was glad. It meant his reflexes would be slower than hers, and she could overpower him easily. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, setting his wine down for a moment to address his Queen. “Lady Stark-”

“I’m not a Lady,” Arya said, her eyes still on him as he spoke. There was a twitch of both the Imps and the Queen’s lips, but she paid no mind to that. “My mother was a Lady, and my sister was a Lady, but I never will be, and I will not be addressed as such.” She saw a flash of an unnameable emotion in the Imp’s eyes as she mentioned her sister and filed the information away for later.

“How then, shall we address you?” It was the Queen who spoke this time, startling the two who were engaged in a conversation. “Seeing as you do not wish to be called Lady Stark, I cannot think of what we should call you.” Arya looked her right in the eyes, trying not to be swallowed by the violet gaze as she answered.

“Just call me Arya. Formalities here are pointless, seeing as the Imp is my apparent good-brother,” Arya replied, the end of the sentence adding the edge of a growl in her voice, making fear flash in Tyrion’s eyes. Good, he should know better than to mess with a wolf. “In fact, that would be a good place to start. How exactly are you my good-brother?”

“Ah, that is quite the story, Little Wolf,” Arya growled again at the nickname, but the Imp took a drink of his wine, ignoring her as he continued. “You see, once you had left King’s Landing, quite the feat, might I add, your sister’s betrothal to Joffrey was broken off, seeing as she was a daughter of a traitor.” Again, he ignored Arya’s growl and white knuckles, but Daenerys did not and fixed the Stark with a glare, keeping her from moving. “My darling sister decided that it would be the best to unite our houses, and I was forced to marry your sister-”

Arya was up and out of her seat, across the room, hand pressed to the Imp’s throat before anyone could react. Her eyes were blazing, her lips curled into a snarl and she leaned in close so that the Imp could hear her clearly. “I swear to the Gods, if you so much as touched my sister I will gut you here without any thought of the consequences,” she hissed to him, and he stared at her, fear bare in her eyes. “If I were you, I would think very carefully through what you’re going to say next, am I clear?” Before Tyrion could answer, Daenerys grabbed her arm and pulled her off of the Hand, leaving him to gasp in breaths. Arya turned her steel grey eyes to the Queen’s violet ones to see them ablaze with fury, the likes of which Arya had not yet seen from her.

“Stark,” the Targaryen ground out, rising from her seat, any idea of a peaceful dinner forgotten as the Dragon was gripping her arm in a vice hold. “I warned you that I do not allow violence at my table.” Arya met her glare with a lifted chin, meeting her gaze steadily, lips curled into a snarl still. “Now, if you will sit down, I will forget all about this incident and the dinner shall continue as planned.” Arya refused to move a muscle. 

“Arya, do as Her Majesty bids,” the Imp said from where he was, voice hoarse but recovering quickly. Arya still refused to move, no matter how much they asked her to move, until Daenerys took her and pushed her down into a chair, standing over her, ever the powerful presence. Arya turned her gaze and met those eyes for the billionth time that evening and then Daenerys sat down herself, motioning for their dinner to be brought forward.

Tension sparked back and forth across the table for the rest of the evening, Arya shooting the occasional glares at the Imp, seeing as he had never answered her question. The food was good, deserving of a Queen, and Arya enjoyed having something other than gruel in her stomach, but it didn’t lend any affection to her hosts. When the courses were cleared and more wine poured for everyone. Arya had not eaten so luxuriously since her time in King’s Landing. That thought brought up the issue in her mind once more, and once they’d gone through three or four glasses each, she turned to him, more than a little tipsy.

“Listen, Imp,” she said, trying to sound threatening, but she knew she couldn’t hold any kind of alcohol. “If you so much as looked at my sister with any thoughts of sex in your head-” Tyrion scoffed as though offended at the implication.

“I did no such thing,” Tyrion said. “I treated her respectably, and I never bedded her. What do you take me for, a monster?” Arya chose not to reply to that, slumping back in her seat, glad that the matter had been resolved for that moment. She took another long gulp of her wine and felt her vision fuzz a little bit further. Daenerys was looking concerned, but Arya could barely form coherent thoughts once her glass was topped off again.

“Missandei,” Daenerys said, and Arya looked around for the Naathi woman, world spinning briefly until she could see the woman right above her. “I believe Arya’s had too much to drink.”

“Have not,” Arya said, sitting up, trying to prove that she could stay there for as long as the Queen could. “I can take as many drinks as the Imp over there,” she gestured vaguely to the man, who had set aside his wine glass in favor of watching her, amusement written across his face. “See?” As if to prove her point, Arya tried to get to her feet, but stumbled, only being caught by Daenerys, who had stood up before Arya had moved to speak with her handmaiden. 

Arya hadn’t realized it before (and perhaps it was the alcohol in her system; she would like to believe that, at the very least) but Daenerys was very warm, warmer than the fires in Winterfell, but cooler than the Fighting Pits. It wasn’t a stifling heat like out in the sands, it was one that felt of comfort, of home. Half delirious, Arya pushed off of the woman, but Daenerys kept a firm hold on her, preventing her from moving. “I suppose I’ll be taking her back, then,” the Queen sighed, and wrapped Arya’s arm about her shoulder. “Missandei, could you assist me?”

Arya was about to protest that she didn’t need help, but the alcohol rushing through her blood made her tongue slow and like lead in her mouth. She could barely walk alone now, and Daenerys and Missandei helped her to her room, helping her to change and get into bed, Daenerys dismissing Missandei, assuring the woman she wasn’t in any danger. Arya could tell that Missandei was reluctant relieve, but she didn’t want to be around Arya any longer.

Arya was drifting now, in an alcoholic bliss as Daenerys’s voice faded in and out against her ears. Some words she could understand, others she couldn’t, but she wasn’t sure how long Daenerys was sitting there, speaking to her and checking her forehead, as though she were running a fever.

“You never spoke of what you meant tonight,” Daenerys said. “You only threatened my Hand. I should have you killed for that, that would be the correct thing to do, but...you have too much information. If there are truly Slavers still in the city, I need your help. I am trying to be patient with you, I swear that I am, but you do not make it easy. I feel as though you are trying to tempt my ire.”

When Arya didn’t reply, Daenerys sighed, most likely thinking she had finally dropped off into sleep, but Arya was still partially awake, able to hear everything that the Queen said. Arya wanted to speak, but her tongue was still thick and useless in her mouth, but Daenerys continued.

“Just...don’t be stupid, Arya Stark,” Daenerys said. “This place is dangerous, and I fear that you won’t learn that in time.” There was a rustle of cloth and the door opened and closed, leaving Arya to fall asleep to dreams of violet eyes and soaring dragons.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya wakes up after drinking one to many glasses of wine, Daenerys has a request for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't beta'd, so all faults are my own.

Arya’s mouth felt completely dry, and her head was pounding with each pulse of her heartbeat. Her entire body ached, and she could barely open her eyes without intensifying the headache. She was sluggish, barely able to move, and was shocked when the lip of something was pressed to her mouth. Before she could truly think, she opened her lips and cool water rushed in between them, bringing her mouth back to the waking world.

“Take it easy, Lady Stark,” Even in her state, Arya still had the capacity to bristle the tiniest bit at being called a Lady, but finished the water greedily. The cup was pulled from her lips before being replaced once more with another torrent of water. Once Arya had gulped that down, the person next to her spoke once more, and Arya, being within her right mind once more, was able to recognize her. “You and Lord Tyrion seem compliment each other, though I have yet to have had to drag him up from the depths of a bottle. That being said, he has more experience with the wine than you have, and I recommend that you do not try to out drink him again.”

“Your Grace?” Arya asked through newly moistened lips and she opened a heavy eyelid. Her vision was blurry as she blinked furiously to clear it, the only thing visible being silver and skin, but it was all unfocused, and she couldn’t distinguish it. “Where-”

“Hush, Lady Stark.” Arya bristled once more and forced herself to sit up. Her limbs were like jelly, and she didn’t get very far, but a hand was placed over her chest, pushing her back down. “You are recovering, even more so with your wounds. I urge you to wait for a few more moments before you attempt any movement.” Arya, knowing that it was a fight she could not win (being that with a Queen) did as she was bid, and rested, waiting until Daenerys said something once more. “Missandei, fetch the healer, if you would. Lady Stark will probably need her bandages changed when she wakes again.”

Arya was more alert now, more aware of every ache and pain in her body. But she could hear better now, and she could hear the handmaiden exit, the door thumping shut behind her, presumably leaving her and the Queen alone in a room. “What made you assume I was asleep?” Arya asked, and cracked open an eye in time to see the Queen jump in her chair, looking completely terrified. Arya resisted the urge to let out a cackle, and instead enlisted the help of the current monarch to help her sit up against the back of the bed she was laying in. “Thank you,” she said, and she hadn’t said more sincere words in quite a long time.

“You startled me,” Daenerys admitted. “But I am glad to see that you are feeling better. I believe that you had all of us scared for a while as to what would happen to you. I’ve never seen anyone beyond Tyrion drink that much wine without dying or having severe consequences. You, however, seem to be doing well, all things considered.”

“You assume that it was my first time filling a wine glass,” Arya said with a small chuckle, giving Daenerys a slight grin. “I’ll tell you, my Queen, that I have held many glasses and drank all of them. The Imp may be a drunkard, but I could match him drink for drink.” She looked down at herself amending the statement. “I can try to match him drink for drink and not completely die.” Daenerys laughed at that, leaning back in the chair she was sitting in. 

“You are quite interesting, Arya Stark,” Daenerys said, watching her with the careful blue eyes. “But the topic that we wished to discuss last night was never discussed. We are alone now and I really want to speak of this with you.” Arya sighed and shifted upon the bed, hoping to feel a little comfortable also hoping to stall the conversation for as long as she could. The Stark could feel the Queens eyes upon her and finally looked back up to meet violet eyes, determined to show that she was speaking the truth. She would be cursed if she wouldn’t be heard and known as honest. Arya may have abandoned her morals long ago by fighting in the pits, but she remembered that she always needed to be honest, in the presence of the Queen at the very least.

“Your Grace, I understand that you and your men have struggled greatly to end the slave trade of Meereen,” Arya began, hoping that she sounded diplomatic enough. “However, there is a great problem in your Fighting Pits. I heard of the great debate that happened before the Pits opened, but…” Arya trailed off, trying to figure out what to say next. “I cannot think of what to say other than what I said before. We may not wear physical collars, but we are still slaves. The whip marks on my back are proof of this. They beat me because they believe that they own me.”

“They ‘believe’ that they own you?” Daenerys asked. “You do not think that they own you, even though you describe yourself as a slave? How strange,” Arya nodded, and Daenerys fell silent, so Arya thought it best to not speak, until Daenerys waved her hand, inviting her to continue her story, so she did.

“I refuse to be anyone’s property,” Arya said. “Why do you think I killed that man? You and the crowd and my masters were screaming at me to keep him alive, perhaps not with your words, but with your actions, or lack thereof. You all wanted me to let him live, but I saw the marks upon his back, I saw the pain in his eyes even before I wounded him. You wanted mercy for him, but I gave him true mercy. I gave him death, as quickly as I was allowed.” Daenerys’s eyes flashed with an indescribable emotion before she spoke.

“You see death as mercy?” Daenerys questioned, and Arya could hear the caution in her voice, as though she was approaching a dangerous beast. Perhaps she thought she was. 

“Death is a mercy for those who beg for it,” Arya replied strongly, and Daenerys nodded. “And, before you question whether or not that man begged for death, he did. It may have been silent, but it was a clear call for death. I would apologize for disobeying you, I truly would, but I do not think that I was in the wrong. I have nothing to apologize for, if I was doing the right thing.” Daenerys nodded against, but still was silent.

“How did you get here, in Meereen? You mentioned being taken, and I’ve heard much of what happened to the Starks, but I cannot quite piece together how you ended up getting captured in the first place,” Daenerys said, but Arya resolutely refused to answer. It was tense, awkward, as Arya’s will refused to bend, until Daenerys cleared her throat and opened her mouth. The door behind her banged open, and Missandei returned with the Maester, who shuffled over to Arya and ordered her to flip onto her stomach and expose her back.

The bandages were cut from her wounds, and Arya winced as the cloth pulled against the freshly wounded skin. The Maester worked quickly, efficiently, but by no means gently, and, though Arya considered herself tough and able to take pain, she let out quiet whimpers as he pressed into the cuts, fixing the stitches and wiping the dried blood from torn stitches. Arya cried out when he touched her blackened shoulder, jerking away only to be held down by his other, firm hand. 

“Be careful, Maester,” Daenerys snapped to him, drawing Arya’s attention off of the pain for a brief moment. “This woman is my guest, and you are doing nothing to help her current condition.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” The Maester said, and began to be much more gentle with Arya, who relaxed against the bed once more, until he decided she was well and he departed without another word, leaving Arya, Missandei, and Daenerys alone in the room. Arya didn’t allow herself to speak and Daenerys and Missandei conversed quietly in a language unfamiliar to Arya’s ears. She took the time to rest, laying there upon the bed in the Great Pyramid of Meereen, in front of the bloody Queen of Meereen. She, a slave, here in a palace. Unconsciously, Arya curled her lip at the very thought of a palace other than Winterfell, and that was more of a Keep than anything else.

“Arya, do you believe you can stand?” Daenerys asked, almost out of nowhere, and Arya sat up with a small groan to face the Queen head on, as she had privately sworn to herself the day before. She refused to be intimidated by the title or the woman bearing it.

“I am sure that I can stand, Your Grace,” Arya replied, and shakily stood from the bed. Her head spun, and she leaned back onto the bed to keep her supported as she regained her balance. Daenerys was up and at her side in a moment, helping her to straighten up, but Arya pushed the Queen away. She didn’t need a fucking Queen’s help, not with standing at the very least. She did, however, need the help with ending the Slavers. “What is it that you wish me to do?”

“I want you to come with me, today. There is to be another fight in the Pits later on in the day, once the sun has risen higher in the sky, and I wish for you to attend with me, to help point out the Slavers.” Before Arya could protest, Daenerys held up a hand to her, ceasing any idea of a protest that the younger of the two may have had. “I will make sure that you are unrecognizable to those who are in attendance and if someone so much as looks at you in the wrong way, my Unsullied will handle the problem.” That did nothing to ease Arya’s worries.

“I do not wish to,” Arya said, and Daenerys sighed deeply. It seemed as though the Queen wouldn’t push the issue, and she got to her feet, exiting the room in a flurry of silks, presumably to spend time with the Imp, or perhaps that man, Daario Naharis, who she had been sharing a bed with for a while. She could take him to the Fighting Pits, where he would be recognized and praised. She would stay behind. Missandei cleared her throat gently, reminding Arya that she was still in the room, and Arya fell back onto the bed, groaning quietly in her pain.

Missandei helped her to her feet and led her down to the kitchens, where the servants barely spared her a glance. Arya doubted they knew who she truly was. It was dangerous having the lost daughter of one of the Great Houses in your home, and she didn’t doubt that Daenerys had made sure to keep her identity a secret. Since she had Missandei with her, the servants in the kitchen made her food that filled the giant room with the smell of fresh breads and cooked meats, making Arya’s mouth water. Missandei ate with her, and not a single word passed between Arya’s lips, no matter how many questions Missandei asked.

The Naathi woman sighed and she helped Arya to walk around the Pyramid, pointing out interesting landmarks and rooms, but Arya wasn’t paying attention. Her thoughts were on the fight in the Pits that day, and whether or not Daenerys would attend, even if Arya hadn’t decided to. The Lost Wolf shook her head, throwing the thoughts out almost as quickly as they had come. She didn’t matter to at all to the Queen. No one ever mattered to a Queen, at least, not those who challenged them and drank with their hands until they passed out. Arya sighed, and Missandei looked at her, placing a hand on her shoulder as they stared out over Meereen, the land extending long into the distance.

“Lady Stark,” Arya tensed, and Missandei rushed to correct herself. “Arya Stark, you do know that the Queen had hoped greatly that you will attend the fight in the Pits. I understand your fear, but you will not be able to help your fellow slaves until you can point them out to us.” Arya clenched her hands and looked down from the horizon to the city, seeing it sprawl out below her with people spilling into streets as the time for the fight grew near. 

“Fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya begins to point out the Slavers in the Pits, and Daenerys shows all her cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time coming. Hope y'all enjoy.

Arya, faintly, was feeling a modicum of appreciation for Sansa and her ability to stand and wear dress for hours and hours on end. Arya was sitting next to Queen Daenerys under the shade in the Pits, watching as man after man came out and slaughtered each other. Missandei had taken her back to her room and clothed her in flowing silks, the opposite of anything she would have worn, but Missandei had convinced her by means of calling it a disguise. Arya had merely groaned but allowed the woman to dress her. Daenerys had been waiting for her, as if she’d known all along that Arya would say yes. The Stark had no time to really think of the possibilities behind that, as she was quickly dragged up to the Queen’s side and sat there, where she had been for most of the day, as the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky. Everytime one of the men was brought out, Arya would point to the one beside him guiding him, declaring him one of the masters.

There weren’t that many masters that Arya had seen, and she pointed to all of the ones that had handled her personally, but Daenerys kept asking quick questions, whether this man or that man was one of the Slave Traders, and Arya just couldn’t answer it once she had gotten past the initial group. Daenerys soon stopped peppering her with questions, and they sat back to wait until the bloodbath was over. Arya felt sick to her stomach watching this, though she couldn’t understand the feeling. This is what she had done for so long that even watching it should have brought back the need to keep fighting, but, for the first time in quite a while, she felt at peace. Well, as at peace as a Stark could be with a Targaryen at her left hand and a Lannister at her right. Though there was a great history between their families, the Imp seemed not to mind her company, accompanied as he always was by a wine glass.

“So, Wolf, what do you think of the PIts?” The Imp asked, and anger flared in Arya’s chest, only stunted by Daenerys grabbing her hand and squeezing it, a silent warning. “I mean no offense to you. It is only that you have never seen it from the perspective audience. I am merely wondering what it is like for you to be on the other side.” Arya refused to answer the question that was being posed, and Tyrion sighed, getting to his feet and departing. Once he was gone, Arya relaxed slightly and pulled her hand out from under the Queen’s now uncomfortable with the contact.

“I apologize for Tyrion,” Daenerys said after a beat of silence, between the break in fighting as the winner left with his head high and the loser was dragged off the field to dress his wounds. Arya looked over at the Queen, wondering if she was being honest, and the violet eyes were more open than she had ever seen them. “Your family has a great history with his, and I believe he is taking it a little too seriously. It would please me if you would pardon his behavior. I will speak with him later as to his attitude.”

“That is not necessary, Your Grace-”

“Daenerys,” the woman cut her off before she could continue. “When we are alone, call me Daenerys.”

“We are not alone, Your Grace,” Arya said stubbornly. Yes, they were alone in the space, but they were surrounded on all sides by the people of Meereen, and just outside the viewing platform was a group of Unsullied. They had never been in a crowd such as this, not where Arya was closer to the Queen’s equal. 

“Please, still call me Daenerys. I am called by Your Grace by everyone in my palace, but this place is your palace,” Daenerys insisted, and Arya could not refuse a Queen, and therefore she nodded.

“Alright, Daenerys,” Arya said. “As I was saying, you needn’t pardon the Imp’s behavior. If I were in his position, I would do the same. Our families have never been friends, and it is only because he is your Hand that I haven’t hurt him,” Arya was surprised she had let herself admit that, as did Daenerys, but she hoped she wouldn’t pay for the slip. “And I do not plan to reside in the Pyramid for much longe-”

“Nonsense,” Daenerys snapped, startling Arya enough to make her jump. “Once my Unsullied begin to arrest the Slave Traders you have pointed out to me, you will be unable to return to the Pits, lest they know that you turned them in. I will not allow you to put yourself back in danger.”

To say that Arya was in shock was an understatement. The outburst from the Queen had shut down her brain for a moment, and she couldn’t quite think of a good response to what the Queen had said. “Y-your Grace?” Arya asked, raising an eyebrow at her, still completely startled. “I do not believe that I need your protection. I have lived long enough to know to defend myself. If you do not mind my saying, Your Grace, I do not wish to stay in the Pyramid because I am not sure you want me there.”

Daenerys frowned at that, and said nothing more in her defense. Arya shifted in the seat she was in as the fighting resumed. It continued on late into the day, until the sands were red with blood. Arya, though she was ashamed to admit it, was glad when Daenerys left early, unable to keep watching the bloodbath. They walked to the Great Pyramid in a stony silence, making Arya uncomfortable. She felt as though the Queen was angry with her, for some reason, and Arya didn’t know why. 

The Queen was the first to break the silence, as they passed by the Unsullied guarding the entrance to the pyramid. She whirled about, making Arya stumble to a halt to avoid running into her, and instead they were nearly nose to nose, violet eyes boring into Arya’s accusingly. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want you here?” the Queen demanded, a tone (and a question) that Arya hadn’t been expecting. 

“Your Grace, there is no reason for you to keep me here. I’ve given you all of the information that I have, I have outlived my usefulness. I am merely taking up wasted space in your palace.” Arya finished her small speech with a dip of her head to the Queen, and Daenerys’s hand came up in a flash, grabbing Arya’s shoulder forcefully, holding her from moving at all.

“Why would you think such a thing?” Daenerys asked. “If I had wanted information I would have sent one of my Unsullied or hired a random man off of the street to look into what was going on. I chose you because I knew that if I didn’t get you out of there, you would have died, one way or another. And it is because of me that you are here. I owe it to you to prevent you from dying.” Arya couldn’t help scoff at that and pulled away from the Queen, shaking her head.

“You can’t bullshit me,” Arya said. “I hope that you know that. You don’t give a fuck what goes on out in your streets, that I assure you. You sit here in your pyramid and you drink your wine with the sons of traitors while your people are dying of starvation in the streets. I may be the daughter of a noble, but I have never taken for granted what was given to me. Don’t try to make me think that you care about what happened to me. You just wanted to see the freak that would dare defy your rules. You wanted the thrill of seeing what would happen to me.”

“I never-”

“Daenerys, you had your time to say your piece, now you have to let me say mine. It is only courteous, after all,” Arya’s lip curled into a sneer that was eerily similar to a snarl. “I know that you believe you did me well when you pulled me from the Pits, but I would have recovered there. You’ve only put me in greater danger, and now I must return to those I will soon have to kill, and tell them that I dined with a Queen, who saw me as so much better than them because...well, because I’ve no idea, to be honest. You still haven’t given me a good reason as to why you took me from my home.”

Daenerys didn’t reply, staring into her eyes, and Arya thought she could see the briefest hint of hurt there, as though she had finally pushed through the icy Queen and the fiery Khaleesi to reach the girl that had been there all along. Good. Perhaps that would make the Queen see sense. Arya knew that she didn’t want a killer in her midst.

Just as Arya was about to leave, when she was about forget all of this ever happened, Daenerys grabbed her again, but by both shoulders and pulled her forward for the few inches that separated them, pressing their lips together. Arya felt herself freeze, as though that could stop this. She had never kissed anyone, never been kissed by anyone before. She had never really had an interest in it. Between losing her father and then her brother and her mother, and then being captured and brought here, she’d never had the time to find herself attracted to anyone. That all didn’t change the fact that Daenerys fucking Targaryen was kissing her right now, and she wasn’t reacting at all.

Arya felt herself respond once that thought had passed through her mind and she hesitantly kissed the Queen back, knowing they were both out in the open, where anyone could come across them, but as the soft lips of the (admittedly beautiful, though she hadn’t allowed herself to think it until this moment) Queen moved against hers, Arya found it hard to continue caring about that and only focus on the sensation. She hadn’t realized what she had been missing. Perhaps Sansa had been right about much more than Arya had ever realized. The hype from her elder sister had been worth it, but she had to wonder what Sansa would think of her kissing a girl. 

It was Daenerys who pulled back first, staring at her with something akin to fear while Arya knew she had a dumbstruck expression on her face. “Did I overstep my bounds?” Daenerys asked, looking at her with those big violet eyes and Arya felt herself regain the breath she had lost in the kiss that had seemed to last forever and a moment at the same time.

Arya nodded and then realized what that meant, frantically shaking her head. She must have appeared comical, as Daenerys laughed and pulled her in for another kiss, this one chaste and Arya nearly melted into puddle right then and there on the floor. “No, Your Grace,” Arya said breathed out as the Queen took her hand, looking quite smug. “Though, are you meaning to tell me that you only brought me here because you wanted to kiss me in the middle of your palace?” Daenerys stared at her this time, looking shocked. “I am correct, aren’t I?”

“I refuse to answer that question,” Daenerys said, taking the Wolf’s calloused hand in her soft one. “Now, tell me that you still believe that only used you as entertainment.” It was a challenge, one that Arya would not rise to, and the Queen gave her a smirk. “Come, please, and stay here with me. I can keep you safe, and we can find these Slavers and serve justice to those it is owed to.” This was too good to be true to Arya. To have a Queen not be a complete nightmare and want her dead was something she had not encountered before. Daenerys seemed to sense her hesitancy however, and let her hand fall from her grip. Arya missed it. “You do not have to take up my offer, of course. I wish for you to stay here and be safe, but I do not have to have anymore involvement in this.”

“Daenerys,” Arya said softly, drawing her attention up. “I...I am unable to decide what I should do here. I need time to think, though I apologize for any nervousness that I may cause you during this time.” Silence. “I will retire to my room now, if that is alright with you.”

“Of course,” Daenerys said. “I shall send the Maester and Missandei up to help tend to you and your wounds. I hope that you will join us for breakfast on the morrow, but you do not have to if you do not wish.” And suddenly the icy Queen persona was back in place. Arya nodded and walked back to her room, feeling dejected, but knowing that she needed to think. Opening the door to her room, she stepped inside and let the door slam shut, leaving her alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is avoiding Daenerys after their kiss, and the Queen plans to do something about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's so short, y'all. I wasn't very inspired, but I wanted to give you the chapter. Promise the next one will be better.

Arya hadn’t left her room in hours. She hadn’t moved in at least an hour, laying against the floor as she contemplated what had happened in the entrance to the pyramid. The Queen of Meereen, and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had kissed her and Arya, in turn, had completely rejected her. The implications of her actions scared her, yes, but she stood firm. She just...she didn’t know what to think. The wounds on her back provided a good distraction from the issue at mind, but she still couldn’t help thinking of the way her lips still tingled from the way the Queen’s had fit against hers. She couldn’t shake it, and, a small corner of her being wanted those lips on her again, spreading warmth through her body like the fire of her dragons. 

She had thought the Queen had just wanted to befriend her to get close to the Slavers in the Pits. She had thought that she would give up the Slavers and be sent away. She had thought…so many things that turned out to be wrong, very, very wrong. Her stomach flipped at the thought of kissing the other woman again, but she knew it wasn’t in a bad way. There wasn’t anything to be done about her feelings, but she could hope that her transgressions against the Queen would be forgotten and they could return to the relationship they had before, be it that of a queen and a commoner.

Arya sat up and got up onto the bed, collapsing there, on her stomach, resting as the flames of pain burned against her back, wishing the Maester would just show up. The pain was a welcome distraction, but it was becoming almost unbearable, and when the door opened, Arya sighed heavily in relief, glad to have the company and distraction from her pain.

“Thank the gods you’re here,” Arya said, sitting up to begin to pull the bandages off of her back. “Do you have any milk of the poppy? Even just a bit would help, but I don’t want to dull my senses too much.” There was no reply, and Arya winced as she pulled a strip of cloth away from her back. “Who is it that has entered my chambers?”

“Missandei,” the woman replied, and Arya sighed deeply, falling back on the bed, face-first. She didn’t want to deal with this, not here, not now, not ever if she could avoid it. “The Queen sent me to-”

“I do not care. I wish for a Maester. I feel my wounds burning and I fear they must be attended to as quickly as possible,” Arya said, lying through her teeth, but hoping the Naathi woman would get the hint and leave. She did not, and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Arya. “Please, get the Maester. I need milk of the poppy as quickly as-”

“You aren’t fooling me, Lady Stark,” Arya growled at that, forever hating the title that was given to her by those she didn’t know her, those who wanted something of her. “Ah, forgive me, Arya. You still aren’t putting as good of a farce as a dead horse. You are not in pain, you just wish me to leave. Your wounds are looking better than they have since I last looked at them. I am not here to take you to the queen, nor am I here to really deliver a message for her. She merely requested that I talk with you.” Missandei quieted after that and Arya rolled onto her back, gasping as wounds on her back flamed before she could relieve the pressure.

“Then spit it out, if you are here to talk. I am truly in pain, and the Maester should be here soon enough,” Arya snapped, not wanting to deal with anyone else relating to the Queen. “I told the Queen that I wished for privacy, and she sends her handmaiden to me in the hopes to sway me into her favor.” She cursed violently as Missandei began to peel away the bandages while she ranted.

“The Queen did no such thing,” the Naathi woman replied. “I came of my own accord. I saw what happened, half of Meereen did, probably, and I wished to speak with you about it. Daenerys would not speak to me, she only wanted wine before she went to bed. I’d hoped that you would help me fill in the blanks.” Arya winced and cursed again, though quieter, as another strip of the bandage was peeled away. “Apologies.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Arya replied through clenched teeth. “The Queen kissed me, yes, but I believe it to be nothing. I am but a slave in her Pits, a traitor to her crown, or my family name is, at the very least. Atop that, I’m-” She halted abruptly when the final bandage was pulled away. She breathed out heavily and Missandei began to wrap the wounds up once more, with clean pieces of cloth. 

“I hope you were not going to say that she would never lo-like you,” Missandei said, and Arya’s eyes narrowed, saying nothing. “I will only urge you to give her a chance, give it a change. You could be surprised at what Daenerys is truly like.” The woman finished and got to her feet, leaving the room as quickly as she had come. Arya groaned and found that she wasn’t any closer to answering the questions running through her brain than she had been before the handmaiden had come in. If anything, she was even more confused than before.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Days passed, and Arya couldn’t make up her mind. She walked through the Great Pyramid like a ghost, kept there by the Unsullied that patrolled, whose Queen had forbidden her from leaving. Daenerys tried to request her presence over and over again, but Arya ignored her. Missandei stopped in frequently to change her bandages and urge her to speak with Daenerys, but Arya never did. She couldn’t, but the Naathi woman didn’t seem to understand her aversion to it. Arya supposed that she could understand why her resolve on this matter didn’t make a lot of sense, but Arya hoped that by avoiding the issue it would go away. She hoped Daenerys would forget the kiss, but she knew that if it didn’t leave her mind, it certainly wouldn’t leave the Queens.

Her resilience won out, however, and the Queen broke before she did, coming to her late into the night, when she always perched outside the Pyramid, looking out at Meereen, wishing that things were simpler, that she didn’t have to deal with royalty and lords and the bloody game of thrones that was played, even beyond Westeros. She sat there every night, where Missandei couldn’t find her to try and convince her, but somehow the Queen found her and approached from the inside.

“Do you enjoy the view?” Daenerys asked her, sneaking up to her side without so much as a sound. Arya jumped, both at the sound and away from Daenerys, putting a firm space between her and the Queen. No matter how meek she looked, she knew that the Mother of Dragons could be a threat if she wanted to be. “Do not be afraid, Arya Stark. I do not wish to harm you, only speak with you. I know that you have been avoiding me, I can see it in the guilt written on your face. I merely wished to discuss-”

“You were the one who kissed me, Daenerys, not the other way around. I am entitled time to think,” Arya said hotly, feeling as though her space had been invaded. “This...rift between us was sown by your own hand, not mine, so do not think to point the blame towards me."

“I understand whose fault it is, Arya,” Daenerys said, her voice having a crackling whip edge to it, startling Arya. “I take full responsibility for it, believe me, but I will not tolerate you acting like such a child in the face of this. You may believe that you are the victim, and you may well be, but I only wish to talk. Is that too much to ask?” Arya could tell that the question at the end of her rant was rhetorical, and she didn’t need to answer, and she knew that her next words could decide her whole fate. It seemed to happen a lot when she was in the company of a queen.

“Fine then, you wish to talk, talk, and perhaps I will listen,” she said, and Daenerys opened her mouth, ready to begin her tale.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys finally gets to talk to Arya about their shared kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is late everyone. I've been really busy this last week and haven't had time to work on it.

“I saw you there, in the Pits, early on. It was months ago at this point, but I saw you fight, and it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I lived in Braavos for a short time of my life, you see, and I got a chance to glimpse the Water Dance in action. It was one of the less elegant demonstrations I have seen of it, but I’ve yet to see anyone fight so gracefully. To watch you move in that way, flowing as you danced in and out between your enemies, brought me back to my childhood, back to Braavos. That had been my home for the first years of my life, that home with the red door and the lemon tree growing through the window. I shall never forget it.

“I shall never forget you, either, Arya Stark. In such a short amount of time, you have impressed yourself upon my memory. Your wit, bravery, and gods damned stubborn nature will never be forgotten, not by myself or by my people. They love you, you know. The Dothraki have seen you train, and they wish to learn the way of the Water Dance.” She gave a short chuckle at her own joke.

Arya said nothing as Daenerys pressed forward. “I kissed you because I thought you wanted me to. I have not had many experiences with women, I cannot read them as I can read men, but I thought I saw the signs from you when we spent more time together. I thought...I thought many things, which means that I did not know, and I assumed. I overstepped my boundaries, and our relationship has been torn apart. But I will not apologize for my feelings, for what I did. It was uncalled for, that I understand, but it was true and honest.” Daenerys took a short breath, and looked at Arya, eyes hopeful. The Wolf offered nothing in return, turning her gaze back to Meereen, watching the city as the sun finally sank down below the horizon and the skies grew dark.

“You never...you have not complimented me before,” Arya said eventually, turning to the Queen, steel gray eyes conflicted. “And I appreciate your explanation, You Grace, it was needed to clear the air between us. I enjoy your company, I truly do, but I only wish to live out my life. My family is gone, my home has been ravaged, and I am forever marked as a slave. This…” she swept her hand at the Pyramid, and then at Daenerys. “This cannot belong to me. It cannot be mine. I am not worthy of it.”

“Arya…” Daenerys trailed off, unable to truly form a response to that. She knew that no matter what she said, Arya wouldn’t listen to her, seeing as she never did. “Arya, I want you here. I don’t care your markings,” which she would have to ask about after they were done with this, “I only care that you are safe. I see myself in you, Stark, and it scares me. I want to protect you-”

“I do not need protection,” Arya snapped, pushing off of her perch on the wall, stepping close to the Queen, so they were nearly toe to toe. “If there is anyone in this world who needs protection, it is you, because you’re a bloody queen. If you die, there is no one here to keep the peace or distribute justice, so don’t you dare talk to me about protection and safety.” Arya glared at her defiantly, daring her to disagree, and the Queen merely shook her head, stepping back from the Northern girl to resist the temptation of kissing her once more.

“I may talk of whatever I please,” Daenerys said after a beat of silence, making Arya’s eyes narrow. “As you rightly pointed out, I am a Queen, meaning that I do not have to take advice from stupid slaves….according to your logic. Now, I will listen to you and take your ideas and advice into consideration, because you are more than a slave to me, Arya Stark.”

“Of course. You see me as the key to the North. Once you cross the Narrow Sea to Westeros, you want a Northerner by your side to gather the support of your subjects,” Arya said. How crazy was she, to believe that. Daenerys had done nothing that she knew of to insert that idea into the girl’s head, so where could it have come from?

“That is not true, and you know it,” Daenerys said. “I have never said anything of the like, and I do not intend to say it. I do not need you to gather the support of my subjects. Arya… I want you. It matters not whether you are marked as a slave or as an exile or a traitor’s daughter. I want you, and none else. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because all Queens are liars, Your Grace,” the Stark girl replied. “It is all they ever do, because they must. I cannot believe you.” She turned on her heel, but Daenerys snatched her wrist, never going to back down from this point. 

“I am not lying to you, Arya Stark. I have not lied to you since you came here, and I will not start now. Cersei Lannister may be a liar, but she is no Queen, and I will be damned if I let you compare me to her. She and I are nothing alike, and it is time that you learned that not all Queens share the same qualities or morals,” Daenerys stared into the steely gray eyes, and didn’t see any emotion in them. It was as though she had shut off any part of herself that could emote, and it terrified her. The girl’s arm was still in Daenerys grip, and she intended to keep it, but Arya tried to pull it back.

“Please let me go, Your Grace-”

“Daenerys. For the sake of the gods, we are alone, formalities need not apply here. You refuse to let anyone call you a Lady, and I refuse to let you call me a Queen, not here, not now.” Arya glared at her defiantly, but said not another word. “I am not Queen Cersei, and I do truly care for you, and you cannot look me in the eyes here and now and tell me that our shared kiss meant absolutely nothing to you.”

“Of course it meant something,” Arya pulled away fully, wincing from the pain in her shoulder, but persevering, just so she could say her piece. “I cannot deny that, I would be lying if I said that. But it cannot mean anything, not to you. You have a kingdom to serve. Deliver your Justice, my Queen, and allow me to return back to my life. This life, this lavish existence in the eye of those who would dismantle my every word is not for me, and I would hope you wouldn’t give this life to the worst of your enemies.” She gave a shallow bow, probably all that her body could handle at the moment, before retreating back through the doors, entering the Pyramid, leaving Daenerys in the biting cold of the Meereenese nights. 

The Northern girl was frustrating, more frustrating than words could express, and Daenerys could figure out what it was that made her so. She felt a force pulling her towards the girl, towards the danger she presented, and it certainly wasn’t befitting of a Queen, but she would be damned if she cared. All that mattered was that Arya was safe. She could assure that, at the very least. In the black of the night, while the people of Meereen slept, Daenerys sought out Grey Worm, instructing him to take the best and the quietest of his Unsullied to find the Maesters of the Pits, the ones Arya had pointed out to them days prior.

“Find them for me, Grey Worm, and bring them back here in chains. Keep them in the dungeons until the morning, when Arya can decide what shall be done with them. We both know it is up to her to decide their fates.”

“It shall be done,” Grey Worm said, and summoned his men. The slipped off into the night, leaving Daenerys once more, a state she had been trying to avoid by keeping herself as busy as she could, only stopping to steal moments of sleep. She did not want to be left alone with her thoughts, not even for a moment.

The Dragon Queen made her way up to her chambers, feet silent against the cool stone as she ascended the Pyramid, passing by the chambers of the Wolf. She ignored the pull they had on her stomach and entered her own chambers, climbing atop the bed with the silken sheets and soft blankets. The Unsullied outside her door nodded, not at the least bit disturbed by the hours of her coming and going. It was nice having a guard who never questioned her actions, not the soldiers at the very least.

As she lay there, nestled among the light silks of her sheets, the kind that shed the heat from her body, she wondered whether or not Grey Worm and his men would be able to bring the men responsible for the pain of her guest to justice. If so, she would let the Wolf dispense justice. If not...if not, the Wolf would be given her justice, it would just have to be messier, more public, a message. That she swore. This was all for Arya.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys surprises Arya with a gift.

Arya stretched as she woke up, arching her back as she worked to loosen her muscles from their tensed state. Events of the previous evening came to her, but she pushed them away, preferring to leave them in the past. Her eyes flitted to the window for a brief moment, wondering whether it would be worth it to leave at this stage. The Queen, godsdamn her, had found her way into Arya’s affections and it didn’t feel right to leave her, not after all she had done, treating her wounds, housing her, dealing with all of the shit that she carried around… she couldn’t just leave. On the other hand, Arya didn’t know how much longer she could stay. The Imp, however scarce she saw him, made her uncomfortable by knowing he was here, in the same building.

Reluctantly, Arya got out of the bed, back and shoulder protesting from the wounds that had, according to the Maester, been healing up nicely. She knew it would be a while before the pain would be gone, and she would carry the scars for the rest of her life, no matter how cleanly they healed. The young woman changed into a fresh shirt and trousers quickly, wincing as the fabric settled over the bandages. Once she was done with changing her clothes, she ran her fingers through the shaggy mane atop her head, combing through the uneven strands before stepping out into the corridors of the Great Pyramid, nodding to the Unsullied who guarded her door at night. She’d never had a guard before, it was strange. 

She meandered down the corridors towards the Throne Room, knowing that was probably where she would find the Queen. If not, she would check the Dining Hall. Something was wrong when she entered the Throne Room. The Queen was nowhere to be seen, but the regular Unsullied stood around, as though she should have been. Arya looked around for a brief moment before spotting a group of men in chains on the floor, with Daenerys standing before the, looking as stern as she did when facing stubborn council members (or even a stubborn Stark).

“Your Grace,” one of the Unsullied next to her spoke, startling her, making her jump and Daenerys turned her gaze to her. “The Lady Stark has arrived.”

“‘m not a Lady,” Arya muttered, but followed Daenerys’s motion for her to come closer. As she circled about the men and a sudden realization came over her as she came to stand at the Queen’s side. “Your Grace, please tell me you didn’t go and-”

“I had Grey Worm do it, last night, after we spoke. He gathered them, and they have been sitting in the dungeons until a few moments ago. I had the Unsullied bring them up.” She looked over and met Arya’s eyes, which were narrowed to slits, rage boiling in her stomach, though whether at the Queen or at her old masters, she was not sure. She turned her rage to the Queen first, knowing it would be easier to speak to her than to those who had stolen her away.

“What the hell were you thinking?” the brown-haired young woman asked, her voice barely above a hiss of anger. “Bringing them here, you’re putting your whole rule at risk. Gods, Daenerys, I can’t believe how stupid you are. Bringing your enemies into your palace.” Her voice rose with every words, but she fought to keep her temper under control, to not completely explode at her. “And how dare you think that you can just parade them out here in front of me, dangling a piece of meat in front of a starving dog. You captured them, did you? Or was this all some stupid ploy to mess with me?”

“You have done well, Your Grace,” one of the masters said from where he was kneeling. “Or should I say, we have done well.” Daenerys’s hand flashed out, quick as a whip, slapping the man across the face a mere moment after he had spoken. 

“Speak to her that way again and my Unsullied will run you through, is that clear?” Daenerys said, every bit of the Mad King shining through her eyes. Arya still could barely keep a handle on the rage in her and wished that Daenerys would actually address what she had said. Arya almost went to grab her arm, but Daenerys whirled about to face her. “And you,” she said, her voice dangerously cold as she stalked up until they were nearly nose to nose. “You do not get to call me stupid, not after I put my men in danger for you. I am not dangling a piece of meat in front of you, I am giving you a chance to right the wrongs done against you.”

“That isn’t your decision to make!” Arya shouted, pulling the knife she kept in her boot out. Daenerys’s eyes flicked to the blade for a split second before focusing back on Arya, looking her square in the eyes. “They wronged me, not you, and that means I get to decide when I distribute justice.” Daenerys didn’t react, and Arya kept going. “You think you’re so righteous, trying to help the poor lost daughter of Ned Stark, the man who betrayed your father. You’re doing me a favor, a kindness, since you haven’t killed me yet.” 

“Arya, calm down,” Daenerys said, her voice stern, but not harsh. “I understand that seeing this men probably brings back horrible memories for you, but you cannot act irrationally. I will have the Unsullied remove them if they truly bother you.” Arya could feel a part of her being appealed to, but squashed it. She wanted to be angry, it was easier than being vulnerable. It was easier to hate Daenerys, hate the men, because she didn’t want them to see how deep her scars actually went.

In one fluid motion, Arya twisted on her heel and slashed the throat of one of the slavers that was on his knees. The man’s hand clawed at his throat as blood sprayed everywhere, and Arya stared at him, eyes cold. He spasmed and fell over before falling still, the light dying from his eyes. Arya barely registered the blood as she kicked the body aside, jerking the entire line of the Slavers in one direction. “What’s to stop me from doing that again, Your Grace?” Arya asked, staring at the blood pooling on the ground with a fascination. “Will it be your Unsullied? Or will you risk getting your hands dirty? Is this justice to you?” She kicked the body again, and Daenerys grabbed her shoulder.

The petite Queen motioned to one of the Unsullied, who dragged away the remaining masters, only freeing the one who lay in the puddle of his own blood. Once they were gone, Arya could feel some of the rage dissipate, but it still simmered under the surface. That, however, wasn’t anything new. It was a constant companion at her side, just under the surface. She shrugged off the Queen’s hand and began to retreat back to her room to wash the blood from her hands and get a new set of clothes, but Daenerys took a hold of her hand, slick with freshly spilled blood.

“Would you care to explain, good killer, why you saw it best to kill him?” There was no accusation in her tone, none of the Queen that had just spoken. It was Daenerys who spoke to her, the woman who had been on the balcony with her the night before. “You didn’t have to do that, I could have had-”

“The one to pass the sentence should swing the sword, Your Grace,” Arya replied softly, trying to keep herself. It felt wrong to be holding someone’s hand while hers was covered in blood. A feeling is discomfort rose in her stomach, but she quashed it down. “I can’t have let your Unsullied do it. It wouldn’t have been honorable.”

A silence fell between them, tense, the kind that made Arya want to lash out, but made her afraid of the consequences of such an action. She looked over at Daenerys, who was giving her a look that conveyed both helplessness and power. It chilled her to the bone.

“At least warn me,” Daenerys said. “Warn me so we can have a towel and water waiting for you.” She threaded their fingers together, locking Arya’s hand with hers, never to be set free. “Fetch us some water!” she ordered one of the servants in the hall, who nodded and scurried away. With a gently firmness, Daenerys pulled her close, cupping her hands, turning them over to look at the blood staining them. “Arya,” she said, voice soft, caressing Arya’s ears, sending her heart racing faster than it ever had before. “There is so much honor in you, I can barely see the Wolf beyond it. It is hard to believe that Tyrion believes you to be the savage girl you once were.”

“Do you not see the blood on my hands?” Arya asked quietly, a hint of teasing in her voice, but a crack of vulnerability that had her cursing herself. “I am every bit as savage as the Imp suggests.” Daenerys opened her mouth, seemingly to continue, when the servant returned with a shallow bowl of water and a strip of cloth, with which to dry the bloodsoaked digits. Daenerys dipped her hands into the water and began to gently clean the drying blood off of them. The water was stained red with the blood of the Slavers, and Arya watched the movements of the Queen’s silken hands hypnotically and efficiently clean the blood from them. 

She took the towel and dried her hands, and the servant left as quickly as they had come, leaving Daenerys and Arya to face each other once more. Arya felt an overwhelming urge in her stomach, rising through her chest and up to her brain, pressing her to act, but Daenerys beat her to it, drawing her in for another kiss. Arya returned it immediately, and slender arms wrapped about her shoulders, pulling her in deeper and deeper into the kiss until a familiar, smug, throat was cleared, and they jumped apart, blushing heavily as the Imp sauntered up. Arya swore that the next time he interfered, she would wrap her arms about his neck and squeeze until his face turned blue.

Her heart was racing in her chest, the thrill of kissing a Queen pumping through her veins, and she could see the same flame in Daenerys’s eyes. Arya breathed out, the rush of air catching in her throat as Daenerys’s look morphed to a different one. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” Arya murmured hastily, dipping into a shallow bow, trying not to wince from the sudden pain in her back. “I must have breakfast, or I will not be able to perform my duties for the day.” She moved out of the room quickly, ignoring the calls of the Queen behind her, and the Imp urging Daenerys to leave her to herself. Arya moved through the Pyramid with an ease she had never discovered she’d earned. She found the kitchens and slid a loaf of bread from a cooling basket, sitting there nibbling on it while servants gave her side glances.

“Did she really kiss you, ma’am?” one of the smaller servants approached, skin dark as the chocolate those in the Red Keep would eat. “The Queen, did she kiss you?” Arya set the bread down and nodded silently. “What was it like, ma’am?” Arya grabbed the bread and pushed off the set of cabinets she was leaning against, striding from the room. She ate the bread as she walked, thinking and Missandei stopped her on her progress with a hand on her forearm, squeezing lightly.

“The Queen wishes that you would return to the throne room to speak with her immediately.” Arya gave her a sceptical look. “Follow me, Arya, she truly wants to speak with you. To ‘clear the air’ as she says. Come, now.” She tugged Arya back to where she had come from and they knelt before the Queen before Daenerys hastily bid them to rise.

“Your Grace,” Arya began and Daenerys held up a hand, getting up from where she was seated on the throne. Daenerys cupped her cheeks and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, short and sweet, yet one of the best kisses Arya had ever had. “This isn’t talking,” Arya mumbled when Daenerys pulled away from her, a smirk firm on her lips.

“We must talk of what to do with the rest of the Slavers we captured. It is up to you, of course, what we do with them, but I would appreciate it if you consulted me before doing anything.” 

“Of course, Daenerys,” Arya said, pointedly putting an emphasis on her name. Daenerys squeezed her arm tightly, a sign of her happiness with Arya. She began to pull away, but Arya continued. “There is something else we need to speak of. I cannot stay here without paying you back some way. Please, allow me to do something for you. Anything.”

Daenerys gave her a grin and a look that indicated she was plotting something and wasn’t going to tell Arya what it was. “We will discuss that later. Come, sit with me.” And Arya did so, perching on the raised platform below the throne.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finally gets her justice.

Arya had waited for nearly a week for Daenerys to make her decision about what should be done with the Slavers, and the Stark girl was nearly ready to explode. She sat next to Daenerys almost everyday, watching over the proceedings with a bored look, until, three days in, she had gotten up and taken to standing behind the throne, watching over everyone that came in to present themselves before the Mother of Dragons. It was the only thing Arya could do to keep herself from going insane. Daenerys allowed it, for a time, letting the steel grey eyes sweep over the throne room every time anything dared to move. Those in audience with the Queen spent half of their time watching her, fear in their eyes.

Arya was leaning against a column, consumed by the shadow it was casting across her. There was no one with an audience with the Queen at the moment, and all was quiet. She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her short locks, wishing for action, for the chance that Daenerys would let her go down to the dungeons and kill those dirty rats that passed themselves off for human beings-

“Arya,” Daenerys said sharply, and she sat up, looking over at the silver-haired beauty, waiting for her orders. “Come here, for the sake of the Gods.” Arya reluctantly pushed away from the pillar and stepped around the throne to where she was standing in front of Daenerys, waiting patiently for what she was going to say. “Seeing as we have a moment of respite at this time, why don’t we discuss what you wish to do with the Slavers down in the dungeon.”

“I am glad you finally remembered that,” Arya said sarcastically, and Daenerys gave her a dirty look, and Arya dipped her head shallowly. “Apologies, Your Grace. The words slipped out.” She looked up at Daenerys through her eyelashes, waiting for the wave of the hand that would dismiss her transgression. It seemed with the Queen that Arya was always waiting on one thing or another.

“Your apology is accepted,” Daenerys said, waving her hand, and Arya met her eyes once more, looking completely bored with the entire situation. “I have not forgotten it, I merely have had more important matters to attend to. Now that we have a moment of respite, we must speak of what to do with them.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Arya said coldly, staring at her with eyes full of hatred for the men who had hurt her. “They deserve to die for the lives they have stolen from me and the other men and women who have died in that horrid Pit-”

“Arya!” Daenerys snapped at her, making the woman stop in her rant entirely, rising from her throne to step up right in front of Arya, who didn’t even flinch. “They have a right to be tried for their crimes.”

“Trial by combat, perhaps,” Arya retorted, and the Queen’s eyes flamed dangerously, making her fall silent once more, motioning for Daenerys to continue.

“I said a fair trial. If they request trial by combat, they will be given that,” Daenerys said and Arya reluctantly backed down. “I cannot justify the killing of my people, no matter the crimes they have committed. I forbid you from going down there and killing them. Speak with them all you like, mock them even, but if you lay a hand on them, I will make sure you never see them receive their justice. Am I clear?” Arya grumbled slight consent, but said nothing. “Am I clear, Arya?”

“Of course,” Arya said through gritted teeth, trying not to let her annoyance show to the Queen too much. “I will not raise my hand against the Slavers in the dungeon. Is there anything else, Your Grace?” She couldn’t keep the bite from her voice, and Daenerys shook her head, obviously sensing Arya’s annoyance with her.

“I wish to see you at supper,” Daenerys said as Arya went to go and train, needing to moment of respite from the presence of the Queen. The Stark girl only paused for long enough to nod, indicating that she had heard what was said, before she left the Throne Room. One Unsullied soldier followed her as she left, but she didn’t pay him any mind. Even with the annoyance of the surveillance of Daenerys, she wasn’t going to complain. After all, she had been provided an opportunity none of her predecessors had been given. Arya made her way through the maze known as the Great Pyramid, only able to find her path as it was one she walked nearly every day. 

She entered the small courtyard that was set aside for training and set to work. Her wounds had healed enough that the Maester didn’t even try to complain when she had first picked up the sword and sparred with the nearest Unsullied. Yes, she had lost, but her muscles had not been used for upwards of two weeks, perhaps more. Arya had lost count of how many days she had spent in the Great Pyramid with the Queen. They seemed to pass quicker with her than with anyone Arya had met-

“Stop it,” she scolded herself, sliding Needle from its scabbard, her fingers reverent on the hilt. She slid into the water-dancer stance that Syrio had taught her, so many years ago in King’s Landing. Arya moved around the practice dummy she had selected. Viciously, she attacked the dummy, face contorted in a snarl subconsciously. Her movements, though not precise, were savage, until the wood and straw dummy was reduced to a wooden post with a few strips of cloth and hay floating through the air.

“You are a good fighter, Lady Stark,” Missandei’s voice came from the door, and Arya breathed out deeply, holding Needle tightly in her hands. “It is no wonder the Queen values how you protect her.” Arya continued to say nothing, lifting her eyes to meet Missandei’s. “Is there something wrong?”

“She does not understand,” Arya grunted, continuing her assault on the decimated dummy. “She is the Justice in this realm, but she doesn’t understand the true concept of justice. If she did, she would allow me to go down there and kill those dirty Slavers where they lay.” She ended her sentence with a vicious stab to the dummy’s throat, her voice sliding into a growl. “It is my right to do as I please.”

“Daenerys only wants the people to be happy. Should she allow you to kill as you please… let us say, it would not end well for either of you,” Missandei said, pulling Arya’s sword from the dummy with a careful hand. She guided the grey eyes into her own, looking completely calm, even with her hand on a dangerous weapon. “I know you don’t understand why she does what she does, but you must trust her. Daenerys truly has your best interest at heart.” Arya snorted and pulled her hand away from Missandei, eyes sharp as her sword.

“If it is as you say,” Arya began, sliding Needle back into its sheath. “Then tell her I will agree to a trial. Only if it is held before sundown.” Missandei gave her a look, surprise mixing with a hint of relief. The handmaiden turned advisor turned on her heel and left the training courtyard with a determined edge to her movements.

Arya snorted, shook her head, and continued to train, sweat beginning to bead across her forehead as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. A few of the Unsullied and Dothraki men came and trained for a short while, but they acted as though she wasn’t even there. They trained, put away their weapons, and then left, without so much as a look in her directions. At some point in her session, Arya had peeled away the long tunic she had been training, only a wrapping covering her chest from the wandering eyes of the Dothraki and Meereenese servants in the palace.

The sun sank lower in the sky, and Arya grinned, knowing that the Queen wouldn’t be able to arrange a trial so quickly. Sweat coated her body as she worked, slicing and stabbing at the dummy, until a nervous clearing of a throat came from her right. She sheathed Needle once more, swiped the sweat beaded on her forehead, turning to see who was there. It was one of the many pages that ran about the Great Pyramid on a given day, one of the ransoms Daenerys had taken.

“The Queen requests your presence in the Throne Room, Lady Arya,” he said, his voice quivering. Arya nodded to him, not even bothering to correct him, moving past him to go to the Throne Room. She looked up at the sun, noting it slowly making its descent below the horizon. 

“Congratulations, Daenerys,” she said, her voice low so as to not be heard.”You managed to win this time.” She made her way to the Throne Room, halfway there before she realized she was only in her chest wrapping, the rest of her stomach and scarred back exposed. She shrugged. They would tell her if she wasn’t appropriately dressed for the occasion.

“Lady Stark,” an Unsullied guard announced as she entered the room. She gave him a look, and stepped into the room, fully revealing herself to those in the throne room. Arya looked over at Daenerys, raising an eyebrow at her, before she saw the Slavers, once more, chained, on their knees. 

“It seems you have finally put these rats in their place,” Arya said, stepping over to where Daenerys was sitting, moving up the steps before Daenerys held out a hand, and she swept into a shallow bow, the scars and healing wounds standing out, the flesh red and pink. “You summoned me for the trial, I presume.”

“The trial has already taken place, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said. “I believed you should be here to witness the sentence. If you do not wish to see it, you may leave, but I think you shall want to hear what I have to say.” Arya nodded watching Daenerys with careful eyes, ever wary that this may be a trick. She and the Queen had shared a kiss, yes, but Arya’s distrust of the woman had only barely started to fade. Still, she had never gone back on her word before, and Arya hoped she wouldn’t this time.

“Based upon the evidence, presented by those we have brought from the Pits, I sentence you to death.” Their eyes widened comically in surprise, and Arya drew a dagger from her hip, stalking towards the men with a sickening sense of pleasure in her stomach. “Arya, do as you will with them.”

“You beat me with the whip time and again for disobedience, but who would have known you were breaking the laws of Meereen? The Queen was very gracious to give you the chance to keep your Pits open, only that you stop the slave trade. Of course, you couldn’t have that, could you?” Arya pressed the dagger to the first man’s throat, eyes narrowed to slits. “Have fun in hell.” One draw of the blade, and he fell into a puddle of his own blood, that quickly pooled beneath the wound. And on down the line she went, slicing each man’s throat until all of them lay in a heap on the floor. The ground was stained red with their blood, and Arya turned back to Daenerys, eyes dead. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, bowing once more as one Unsullied tossed her come cloth to wipe her hands with. “If I may, I wish to retire for the evening.”

“The sun has not yet set, Arya,” Daenerys said. “Stay here for a moment, please.” Arya sighed and returned to her spot next to the throne, silent as she always was. “Is there anything else I must attend to, Tyrion?” she turned to the Imp who had materialized at her side after the slaughter of the Slavers.

“Nothing that is urgent, Your Grace,” he said, giving Arya a sly grin, which she ignored. “Spend time with the Lady Stark. I’m sure she needs time with you.” Arya, at that point, shot him a sharp glare, and he only gave her that same grin, eyes alight with mischief.

She was walking out of the Throne Room before Daenerys could call her name.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you sticking with me through this adventure. I hope you all enjoy this final chapter!

They found her in the training yard, the only place where Arya could be predicted to reside when she needed to think, or blow off some steam. Daenerys hung in the shadows, watching her eviscerate a poor practice dummy, which had done absolutely nothing to deserve the treatment it was getting. Her movements were calculated, but brutal, each slice cutting further and further into the wood. The muscles along her back rippled with each swipe she took, the scars and still pink lines standing out much more than Daenerys had ever wanted them to. She found herself wishing that she had gotten to Arya before all of the whippings. Perhaps then she would have been able to 

The sun was well beyond the horizon now, with the moon taking its place in a steady climb up to the stars. Daenerys alternated between it and watching Arya, who was resting, leaning against the dummy, head cocked out towards the city. Daenerys trailed her eyes over the scars, wondering which had come from whips and which had come from the weapons she had fought against in the Pits. Sympathy and heartache filled her body and she stepped from the shadows, sneaking up behind Arya and wrapped her sweat coated body in a hug, transferring warmth from her body to Arya’s. The other woman barely moved, but turned her head to the side, looking to the shoulder where Daenerys rested her head.

“I was wondering when you would come out from the shadows,” Arya said, a tight smile pulling at her lips, but Daenerys kissed her, drawing it away. The expression that was left was a neutral, but still warm expression. “You’ve been standing there for quite a while. What do you wish to discuss?”

“Why did you storm out like you did?” Daenerys asked, pressing another soft kiss to Arya’s cheek. In response, Arya pulled her head to the side, and Daenerys sighed heavily, turning her head to look out at Meereen as Arya had been doing before she had revealed herself. “I thought giving you justice would open you up to me, but you are only more withdrawn. I only want to be with you-”

“I can’t, Daenerys,” Arya said, pushing away. “What would I do? Everything that I am is owed to you now, but there is nothing I can do to repay my debt. All that I do is sit behind you, giving each man who enters your court the fear of death, but any of your Unsullied can do that. I am useless here, and there is so much I need to do in Westeros-”

“You are not useless here, Arya,” Daenerys said. “You are what I say you are, and I say that you serve a purpose here, even if you don’t know it.” Arya looked unconvinced, shoulders still tensed from the stress of the days. Daenerys thought for a moment before continuing. “And if it is only a job you wish to have, there are plenty for someone with your skills.”

“My skills?” Arya turned to look her in the eyes, the first time since she had executed all of those men mere hours before. “Daenerys, look at my hands.” The Queen obliged (she always would, if she would admit it to herself) and tried not to feel repulsed at the sight of dried blood there, obviously the blood of the men she had killed. “They are not meant to work for a Queen. They are meant to be cut off, thrown to the dogs, to never grace the planes of your beauty again.”

Daenerys was silent, unable to come up with a good response to what she had said. Arya pulled away from her grip and went back to attacking her practice dummy, moving with a new energy in her bones, obviously reinvigorated. They were in silence for long into the impromptu training session before Daenerys spoke up once more, having thought up her defense.

“I don’t care what you believe should be done with your hands,” she said, grabbing one of said hands, the one that wasn’t holding the sword in it. “And as I am the Queen, it no longer matters. I have a use for you and your skills, and if you don’t like it...you have to like it, seeing as I am your Queen,” she offered Daenerys a small grin to show that she didn’t truly mean it, but Arya shook her head, sighing. “I want you to train my guards, Arya. I want them to have that same terrifying presence as you. I want them to fight as well as you, and they must be as graceful as well.”

“What?” Arya asked, shock ringing through her voice, a welcome change from the cold apathy Daenerys had been getting. The Stark girl turned around fully to stare deep into Daenerys’s eyes, steel grey conflicted, but still closed off from her. “I cannot train anyone, but-”

“I want you,” Daenerys interrupted. “And my word is final. You need a use, and I have given you want. This way, I can keep you close, but you can do what you love: fight. There is not better compromise!” Arya stared at her for another long moment, unresponsive. Daenerys felt a sinking feeling pull her heart into her stomach until a grin cracked Arya’s face and she lurched forward, arms sliding around her waist, head tucked into Daenerys’s shoulder, holding her tight.

“I assume this is a yes?” Daenerys asked, and Arya pressed a kiss to her neck in response. Daenerys felt her knees go weak, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to continue standing up. Arya’s arms tightened around her waist, holding her up as the kisses traveled up her neck before claiming her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and firm, slow and hurried, a dizzying experience that left Daenerys gasping for air and Arya grinning like a cat.

“That is a yes,” Arya said, breath spreading across Daenerys’s face, pleasant as she stared deep into the steely grey depths. They exchanged another kiss under the moon before Arya pulled away, her eyes alight with...happiness. “I will begin training your men as soon as I can,” she said, and Daenerys grinned wickedly, grabbing Arya by the arms, holding her in place, 

“That is tomorrow, or the day after,” Daenerys said, pushing Arya back against the wall and she went willingly, the grin on Dany’s face mirrored on hers. “Tonight, I share you with no one else. You are mine.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

 

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

 

The months passed and Arya was drilling her soldiers harder than Daenerys had ever thought possible. Most were stronger for the experience, but even the Unsullied seemed to be having trouble with the graceful techniques of the Water Dancer. Twisting and turning to fight were not in their working battle movements.Daenerys watched now, from a balcony that overhung the courtyard, smiling privately at the smug look on Arya’s face as she bested yet another Unsullied. 

“Your movements must be constrained,” the Wolf said, raising her voice above the din of the sparring men. “We are not in the desert, and your broad movements won’t work well in case of an ambush in the corridors of the Great Pyramid. Try again, but as though you were fighting in a corridor, not in the courtyard.

The Unsullied did as they were ordered and Arya watched them, the cold calculated look entering her eyes once more as each of them fell under scrutiny. It was a wonder she hadn’t driven more guards from her ranks. Even her Dothraki Bloodriders commented on the brutality of the training. None had yet gone face to face with Arya, but she knew a few of them were wanting to. 

“Look sharp for you Queen, lads,” Arya’s voice jerked her back out of her musings, and she looked down once more to see her lover giving her a lazy salute. The Unsullied continued fighting as though Arya had said nothing, but muscles strained and metal clashed harder than before. “She’s keeping a close eye on us right now.” With a short bow, Arya took up her own sword, twirling it with expert fingers which made Daenerys grin. Such a gesture almost always meant the Stark woman was about to show off, and she had never disappointed. 

She summoned the attention of her men and made them clear a space for her to work, speaking to them the whole time in Valyrian, the tongue that, though stunted at times,, sounded beautiful in her lover’s mouth. Daenerys watched, leaning over the edge of the balcony to get a better view of what was going to happen. 

“You, forward,” she waved at one of the men with the edge of the sword Daenerys had lifted her once she had agreed to teach her men. It was shaped and weighed for her hands specifically. The man stepped forward, drawing his own sword against her, waiting for her to attack. Arya paused long enough to draw breath before darting in, hitting the Unsullied arm’s before jumping back just in time to avoid the swing from his blade. She gave a barely disguised grin before ducking under his arm and hitting him once more with the flat of her sword, popping up behind him, all in one fluid movement that Daenerys could have missed if she blinked. Suddenly, the Unsullied was sprawled across the ground, face in the dirt. Arya slide her sword into its scabbard, and she looked up at Daenerys, giving another bow.

“I hope it was to your satisfaction, Your Grace!” she called up and Daenerys couldn’t help the grin that split her face, making her feel like a lovesick fool. She didn’t care, however, she knew she loved this woman more than words could express. Perhaps she could finally muster the courage to tell Arya so.

“Of course, my Wolf,” Daenerys called back and Arya smirked at her. “Though I would prefer if you trained my men instead of merely showing off time and again.”

“There would be no entertainment in that, My Queen,” Arya replied and waved her mena way. “Take the rest of the day to train, lads. Our Queen obviously desires my company.” The men nodded, almost in syn and filled the courtyard once more with the sound of clashing steel. Daenerys left the balcony as soon as Arya had disappeared into the side of the Pyramid, rushing to greet her lover.

They met at the base of the Pyramid and embraced, meeting for a passionate kiss, as though they were young again, meeting in secret, stealing kisses in the night, when no one could see them. They, however, were allowed to steal kisses in front of the council chambers, or in the Throne Room, when Daenerys cou no longer hold herself back. 

“The men, are they treating you well?” Daenerys asked, and Arya scoffed, giving her a mischievous look, giving Daenerys the answer she needed.

“You should be asking whether I am treating them well, or not. They have not taken kindly to being bossed around by me, but I have defeated all of them in fair combat. They must respect me now,” Arya said, looking proud of herself, something for which Daenerys was glad. It wasn’t often the Unsullied welcomed another into her ranks, and perhaps she could even begin to sway the opinions of her Dothraki.

Arya pulled her back from her thoughts once more, this time by gently kissing the corner of her lips, drawing her back in like an aged wine, perfect for consumption. Daenerys kissed her back, and it grew more and more heated until Arya pulled away, eyes dark and stormy.

“I haven’t had any food today,” she said, her voice rough and gravelly as it always was after Daenerys kissed her. “We should fetch something and have a light lunch in the courtyard.” Daenerys nodded and linked their hands together, tugging Arya close, never wanting the Wolf to stray far from her side. “When do you plan to take your dragons and fly across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys?” she asked as they walked, nodding to one of the Bloodriders. “Your Unsullied warriors are ready, they are good to fight in the field of battle, as you already know. I am merely training them in defense against siege, but we could leave now and take Westeros easily enough. You know as well as I do how the land is still ravaged from the War of the Five Kings, and I can assure you that there is no smallfolk alive that wishes Cersei Lannister to stay seated upon the Iron Throne.”

“I will consider it,” Daenerys said. “But I want to spend more time with you.” She offered a small smile, and Arya returned it, more gentle than any other look that ever crossed the Stark girl’s face. “Come let us eat. I will invite Tyrion and perhaps you and he can finally start to make a peace.”

“That doesn’t seem likely anytime soon,” Arya said with a sharp laugh, sliding her arm into Dany’s.


End file.
